Paddy Burt: Read's Restaurant, Faversham, Kent

Paddy Burt stays at Read's Restaurant in Faversham, Kent

12:01AM BST 13 Jun 2003

Mr DB's recommendation is enigmatic: "This one will cost you a little more than you usually pay," he writes. Even so, it isn't exactly a doddle booking dinner, b & b here for a Saturday night - I get lucky only because someone's cancelled. "All our rooms are large . . . and they're all gorgeous," purrs the receptionist.

She's still purring when we arrive at Read's Restaurant with Rooms, a manor house verging on a stately pile on the outskirts of Faversham. Up the wide staircase we go to an exceptionally large room where the lamps are lit, even though it's not yet dark. "Come down early before it gets too busy," she advises, patting my husband's arm.

Actually we've got a room and a half because the door from the landing leads into our very own short hallway, with bathroom to the left and bedroom to the right. Everything's matching: wallpaper, roman blinds and curtains all have small red flowers on cream.

There's a genteel little sofa too: "If only this wasn't so hard, the room would be perfect," sighs my husband, though he's the sort who likes loads of squashy cushions. I like the sofa though - the fact it's there - also the decanter of sherry, the Penhaligon toiletries and the copies of Homes & Gardens on the bedside table.

Down in the large drawing-room there's a sense of anticipation. Couples perch on the edges of chairs, discussing the idiosyncratic menu. Sorry Read's - if you've missed one of these works of art with Gerald Scarfe drawing on the cover, I just happened to pop a copy in my bag. I couldn't possibly memorise all the bons mots, not to mention the food . . .

For example, "hand-rolled potato gnocchi with new season Owens Court asparagus and wild mushrooms" (my husband's choice) is followed by a quote from G K Chesterton: "Music with dinner is an insult to both the cook and the musician."

There's a reverential air in the restaurant, where we're greeted by starched white cloths on the tables, and small cups of intensely flavoured pea and tarragon soup. Dinner proper (for me) begins with Parma ham with vegetable crostini, reggiano parmesan and rocket salad - a still life with wilted greens stacked up in the middle of very thin slices of ham, accompanied by a quote from Gandhi: "If we chose the right diet what an extraordinary small amount would suffice."

Next I have a simple main course of "roasted breast of free-range organic chicken with buttered leeks and wild spring mushrooms in a creamed sauternes wine sauce", accompanied by a lovely Churchillian quote (see end of piece).

The chicken is perfection . . . but, alas, just too much for me, though, always prepared to make an idiot of myself, I ask if I can have a doggie bag. My husband mutters something like "Think of the starving masses" but I prefer the waiter's smile as he returns with a neat, silver-foil-wrapped packet. "How kind of you . . . thank you."

My husband, meanwhile, is enjoying a portion of "roast fillet of turbot with crushed new potatoes, fresh asparagus, warm vinaigrette of Whitstable cockles" . . . and a quote from Miss Piggy: "Never eat more than you can lift."

Puds are enticingly different. My husband opts for the Gerald Ford - coffee bavarois with pistachio biscotti and a chilled bitter lemon orange cappuccino ("Eating and sleeping are a waste of time"), while I fancy Read's lemon tart with fresh raspberry sauce and a quote from Pepys: "Strange to see how a good dinner reconciles everyone."

But I fail again . . . and once again the waiter is proffering silver foil. "Would you like your little parcels put in the fridge until you leave?" he asks. I love it. A smart restaurant, a diner who's putting them to the test - and a waiter with a smile that will take him far.

Back upstairs, the bed has been turned down, naturellement. Breakfast . . . and here's that Churchill quote: "My wife and I tried to breakfast together but we had to stop or our marriage would have been wrecked."

Needless to say, this repast is all we could wish for. This is a treat and a half of a hotel.